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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763147">Something to Believe In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocBaroque/pseuds/RocBaroque'>RocBaroque</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner'>Songspinner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Foreplay, Grief/Mourning, Minor My Unit | Byleth/Seteth, no actual character death but they think Byleth's dead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:49:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocBaroque/pseuds/RocBaroque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after Claude takes up the mantle of Duke Riegan, he meets Seteth for a parley and potential alliance, but it doesn't go as planned. Afterward, he needs some alone time with Hilda.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claude von Riegan &amp; Seteth, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hilclaude Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Something to Believe In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This takes place in a sort of CF/VW mashup route, so the Church folks have gone with Dimitri to Fhirdiad and Claude's busy trying to wrangle the Alliance lords to prevent an Imperial invasion. It's the same timeline as "New Traditions," one of my other HilClaude week entries.</p><p>This fic is a collab between me (SS), my usual Hilda partner (not on ao3 or twitter), and RocBaroque's wonderful Seteth!</p><p>Posted (a little late) for Hilclaude Week 2020, day 7: Future/Free Day</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The point of rendezvous chosen by the leader of the Leicester Alliance is an old, broken mountain peak safely within the Kingdom's borders. It has a proper name, but no one in Faerghus bothers to use it—young von Riegan’s missive referred to it as the Scarred Knight, deftly falling into the local, amicable vernacular as only Claude could have. Seteth arrives an hour before the meeting was to commence, in a thin shell of red and silver armor, Aoife still objecting to the steel plates between her antlers and under her belly. A winged battalion waits in the foothills below, on his orders. The scenery is barren. He exhales in clouds. There’s nothing but silence and cold while he waits.</p><p>Claude hasn't seen Seteth since the day they all fled Garreg Mach, scattering to the four winds. Nor has he ever been to Faerghus, though he's been warned plenty about the cold and has dressed accordingly. Still, the sheer bite of the air takes his breath away as he circles the peak and comes in for a landing, spotting Seteth and his mount against the bare rock. He spots the battalion, too, and silently congratulates Seteth on being cautious--though of course, he would be. He always was. Claude himself came alone--not the most clever scheme he's ever come up with, to be sure, but...he lied about where he was going, knowing that if he tried to suggest such a thing to the Roundtable they'd only bicker about it until doomsday.</p><p>So it is that he dismounts alone in what is at best neutral territory, shivering despite his precautionary warm attire, to approach Seteth somewhat warily. He thought about sending his missive straight to Dimitri instead, but Seteth seemed the more predictable choice, and predictable is what he needs right now. "...Seteth. Long time no see." He comes in for a handshake. The bags under his eyes suggest he doesn't sleep much these days; he must not get in many afternoon naps anymore.</p><p>Seteth's young wyvern somewhat impatiently angles her head for him to use her antlers as leverage to dismount. He removes his gauntlet just long enough for a perfunctory handshake before fitting it back over his glove. In all ways aside from the upgrade to his uniform, he looks exactly the same as the day they parted. <em>Exactly</em>. “I can only imagine what you intend to discuss,” he speaks in white vapor. “Given that you elected to contact me and not any of the monarchy’s capable diplomats.”</p><p><em>He really never changes, does he?</em> “I did. After all, you and I were so close back at the monastery, right?” The joke is halfhearted; if his smile didn’t reach his eyes before, it barely reaches his face at all now. “But this isn’t an official diplomatic meeting with Duke Riegan.” The title still sounds weird to him. “This is a request, from Claude. So take that as you will, I suppose.” He stuffs gloved hands into his jacket pockets. “I know the Kingdom and the Church have their own problems, but what they have in common with Leicester is an enemy. I’d like to open talks to negotiate an alliance between us. ...I also wanted to ask whether you’ve heard any news about Teach.”</p><p>Seteth grunts at the attempted joke. From the impassive look on his face, it may as well have been that ‘back at the monastery’ never happened. At the entirety of Claude’s proposal, he frowns, turning aside, adjusting the straps on his gauntlets. “If I am currently speaking to Claude in all his authority as a former student at the Academy, and not the Duke of House Riegan, head of the Leicester Roundtable, I fail to see how any worthwhile alliance can be struck between us. The Kingdom has little use for another—” He runs a mental check. “Nineteen-year-old noble who feels he has something to prove.” One hand grabs Aoife by the antler again. Her nostrils flare and the thick cords under her scaly neck brace. He’s already leaving. “You could easily have proposed this in your letter. I apologize for wasting your time.”</p><p>Claude frowns. "I take it that's a no, then. Seteth, please. I just flew half the day to come here. You won't even have a conversation with me?"</p><p>Seteth vaults into Aoife’s saddle, taking the reins in hand. “Concerning what, Claude?”</p><p>"Gee, I don't know. Maybe the fact that someone we both care about vanished into a giant hole in the ground and the Church <em>abandoned</em> us all to go tuck its tail between its legs and run off to Fhirdiad. It was Rhea's power play and you know it. And in the meantime all those students... <em>we</em> had to flee home and prepare to fight a bloody war against our own friends that I'm willing to bet Rhea could have prevented if she'd just told us anything at all." He lets out a breath, not really having intended to rant quite so much as that.</p><p>Seteth listens silently while his wyvern rattles her armor, until Claude stops talking. “Would you like me to pass your complaints on to Lady Rhea?” he asks, flatly.</p><p>"No, Seteth. I'd like you to stop avoiding talking about Byleth." He doesn't sound angry anymore. Just serious. And tired. And a little chastising.</p><p>Seteth heaves the reins hard enough to wrench the wyvern’s head on her neck. She bucks in a panic, her sudden shriek echoing down the side of the mountain. The shapes of the battalion below begin to stir. He’s off her again in an instant, snapping a polearm from the side of the saddle and tearing the wrap from it’s double-headed blade. Sunlight is drawn to it like a magnet. Claude doesn't back away or look afraid as Seteth draws a weapon, but he does pull his bow down from his shoulder, wary. Seteth isn't on the attack, though; he uses the blade to flash a signal to the agitated soldiers below, who immediately settle back again. He turns back to Claude again, not flat or automatically polite anymore--just angry, exhausted, bleak. “What is there to avoid?”</p><p>"...it sounds to me like you've avoided talking about them at <em>all</em> for the past few years. Which means you're long overdue. Does that mean you haven't been searching, either?"</p><p>The butt of the lance chimes like a bell against the mountain’s bare rock. Aoife groans quietly behind Seteth, shaking out her bruised neck. The plates of her armor clatter against each other. “No.” The word is a puff of icy air. “There’s no use.”</p><p>Claude scowls, half-tempted to shoot the man anyway. "No use? Are you serious?"</p><p>“Why would I linger over the dead? You said it yourself—the Kingdom is beset on all sides by a bloody war. I have family to protect and a Church to rebuild.”</p><p>"The dead." Claude shakes his head, clenching his jaw. "I'm not going to count them out until-- <em>unless</em> --I see a body. And until then, I intend to keep sending scouts to search. I'm sure to you, this nineteen-year-old noble seems naive. Maybe you're right. But I'll take naive over cold and despairing any day."</p><p>Seteth scoffs. “If that is how you intend to use the limited time and resources at your disposal, I no longer have the authority to order you otherwise.” Still, he flinches, and glances away, farther up the mountain. “I have already seen too many bodies.”</p><p>Claude carefully slings his bow back up to his shoulder. "You don't want to find them because if you <em>do</em> find a body, that will make it real."</p><p>“Real?" Claude struggles to remember a time when Seteth ever looked like this—maybe when Flayn went missing, years ago, but definitely never since. The phrase ‘death warmed over’ comes to mind. “Do I require proof—a body—to continue feeling as though I left half of myself in some forsaken ravine at the desecrated ruins of my old home?” Seteth grinds the haft of his lance into the rock, absently watching silver sparks fall like snow, before leveling Claude with another steady, flat look. “I assure you, few things in my life have ever felt more <em>real</em> than this.”</p><p>"Then why? Why are you so willing to just let them go, assume the worst?" Claude swallows. "...I needed them too, Seteth. I still do."</p><p>“Because if I spent my life waiting for the dead to return there would be little point in living.”</p><p>Claude sighs, putting a hand to his face for a moment. Then he abruptly changes the subject. "Speaking of reasons to live. How's Flayn?" Maybe miraculously, he isn't being sarcastic.</p><p>“Devastated.” Seteth's thousand-yard stare is back. “She tries not to show it, out of some need to keep from worrying me.”</p><p>"I'm sorry." <em>At least you have her</em>, Claude wants to say. <em>At least you have Rhea. At least you don't have friends on the other side of the battlefield, planning battles that could get your other friends killed.</em> But he doesn't say any of that, knowing Seteth won't care. "Tell her I said hello." He pauses. "Do you mind if I ask why you and the Kingdom haven't reached out to me? The Empire is a mutual enemy."</p><p>“I have suggested as much to the Archbishop, and to those who have the Prince’s ear.” Seteth shakes his head. “I can’t say what it is that stays their hand.”</p><p>"So, even now, Rhea keeps her secrets from you, too? Don't you ever get tired of that?"</p><p>Seteth has nothing to say to this. His eyes search Claude’s infamously unreadable expression. “Have you truly flown half a day to simply air grievances with me?” It's not quite as loaded of a question as when he previously asked.</p><p>"...no. I was hoping we could join forces in looking for Teach, but that's obviously a bust. So I guess you can take word back to Dimitri that I'm open to negotiations and let him know that this war might be over a hell of a lot faster if he takes me up on it. As for the Archbishop...feel free to give her my fond regards." He shakes his head. "You were always strict and kind of dour, but I never knew you to be uncaring. Maybe while you're busy trying to find a point to living, you should try doing it a little more. I bet Flayn would appreciate it, too."</p><p>Seteth gives Claude a look that is both furious and infinitely tired—tired of useless sentiments delivered by creatures that will never survive a full century, let alone 32 of them. Tired of the condemnation to be alone and helpless to watch empires fall, loved ones die, and entire histories disappear. “I will take your expert advice under consideration,” he says dully. Aoife has calmed enough to allow him on her back again. He gathers the reins carefully this time, coruscating silver spear replaced under the saddle. He glances to Claude a final time. “Duke Riegan. If, or when, you do locate a body.” He hesitates, and the mask slips again, grief ruthlessly twisting his features. “Please consider failing to inform me.”</p><p>"...I'll consider it," Claude agrees. "Until next time, Seteth."</p>
<hr/><p>Claude stands there on the bare mountainside until Seteth and his wyvern are nothing but a speck in the distance. So much for...any of that. The thought of going back empty-handed--back to a conflict he can't even call a war, because he can't even get the Alliance lords to agree that there should <em>be</em> a war--feels like a stone in his gut. The sheer weight of it. Oh, he could spin this for the Roundtable, but what's the use? Better, he thinks, that they never know he made this trip in the first place.</p><p>The flight back to Derdriu is long and dull. He hates this feeling: the feeling that there's nothing to be done. No clever solution, no plan to make, that can change the outcome of that meeting. The Kingdom and the Church will continue to just barely hold off the Empire while the Alliance will continue to just barely put forward a united front to keep Edelgard's troops at bay for one more day...and then another... If only he had Byleth. They would know what to do.</p><p>By the time he touches down in the roost behind the Riegan estate, the sun hovers just above the horizon, like a dewdrop quivering at the tip of a blade of grass. He gets a few disapproving looks from staff who didn't even know he was gone, but he doesn't feel like making anything up or distracting them with jokes like he usually would; he just waves them off. He goes inside only for his valet to tell him that he has a visitor who has been waiting hours to see him, with that look on his face that says the young Duke has screwed up <em>yet again</em>.</p><p>Claude's sorely tempted to say that his visitor can wait all night for all he cares, but instead he asks who it is. Upon hearing the answer, relief floods him, and he wastes no more time in making his way to the sitting room, where he's told Hilda is waiting.</p><p>The problem with surprise visits is that they are, well... A surprise. Hilda can hardly blame Claude for not waiting with bated breath for her arrival, not when she neglected to send so much as a missive stating her intentions. She's always favored spontaneity over formality, though, and the last few agonizingly slow years spent carrying out one grueling obligation after another only for the Alliance to barely be treading water has done little to change that. If the sole consequence to come of her impromptu decision to fly in at a moment's notice is half a day's wait, that's fine by her. She's already waited a few months to see him. What's a few hours more?</p><p>Naturally, Claude finds her curled up on the most comfortable couch in the sitting room with a blanket draped over her. The sound of footsteps approaching brings her back to consciousness, and by the time he opens the door she's yawning and stretching like a cat. "Hello, 'deer'." Her greeting is saccharine sweet, with only the faintest touch of drowsiness clinging to it. "Glad you could make it." A pause as her eyes readjust to the light of the room and take him in fully. "You look terrible."</p><p>"Well, <em>you</em> look like a sight for very sore eyes."</p><p>"I should hope so. I had plenty of time to see to that."</p><p>Her comforting presence gives him just enough energy to form the usual deer antlers with his hands in response to her habitual greeting, with a tired chuckle. "Don't get up, I'm about to collapse anyway." And he does, falling heavily onto the couch beside her with a thump and then lying down with his head in her lap.</p><p>Well, she <em>says</em> she spent all that time primping. In reality, the abundance of time has been utilized to dress down rather than up. All of her various accoutrements have been stripped away and stacked neatly on an end table, right down to her jewelry and removable sleeves. It seems looking cute was sacrificed for comfort when she realized the wait was going to be longer than expected, and now she's left with a dress and a blanket and a lapful of Claude von Riegan as a result. Not the worst outcome, all things considered. She huffs a laugh, relieved to see he can muster such a response in spite of whatever's weighing on him. Once he's settled, she combs her fingers through his hair and looks down at him fondly. "There are better places to collapse, you know." She teases, but the concern is evident in her voice as she continues. "Bad day?"</p><p>Claude silently thanks the gods of fate that Hilda decided to pick today to show up out of the blue. He's tempted to just close his eyes and drift off to sleep right here and now, but he knows he'll have fewer nightmares about that day at Garreg Mach if he talks to her first. That's always how it goes. So instead, he shifts to lie on his back and look up at her. "You could say that." The sleepless weeks are as obvious on his face now as they were earlier. "I might have snuck off to Faerghus to meet with Seteth. It didn't go well."</p><p>Hilda winces sympathetically, both at seeing the state he's in up close and hearing the news. "Oh, babe..." She sets about removing his gloves and drapes them over the back of the couch, takes one of his hands in hers and presses a chaste kiss against his knuckles. "You made it back here in one piece, didn't you? That's something." Her mouth twitches with an attempt at half a smile before she takes a deep breath, sinking lower in her seat.</p><p>"It is, and it might be more than I can say for Seteth. He's a wreck." More blunt than his usual, perhaps, but Claude feels like he's at the end of his rope. Hilda's light kiss and gentle touch are a comfort; he takes that hand and pulls it down to rest in both of his, settling on his chest.</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>"...he thinks Teach is dead. Hasn't even been sending anyone out to look for a body. He told me if I found one, to 'please consider failing to inform him.'"</p><p>Hilda sucks in air through her teeth. "That... does sound like something Seteth would say." Ever the wordsmith, that one. It would appear that grief has only served to sharpen his tongue. Hilda remembers him striking terror into her heart one day with a reprimand and plucking at her heartstrings the next with a story he wrote for Flayn. The fact that his words now cut like a knife makes her chest ache. "I can't begin to imagine what he's going through, but what he's doing... or <em>not</em> doing, in this case... That's not right. Someone should be looking for them. Even if they're really..." She refuses to finish that sentence. The meaning is clear enough, anyway. She clenches at the fabric of Claude's shirt with her fingers, instead. "They deserve that much."</p><p>”They do. So <em>I’m</em> looking for them. I've been sending scouts out for a while, and I don't intend to stop now, regardless of how <em>young and naive</em> Seteth thinks I am.” He looks up at her with brows drawn low. She sounds like she thinks Teach is gone for good, too. Is he the only one who doesn’t? Well, that’s never stopped him believing in something before, and it’s not going to stop him now.</p><p>"Though I'll admit it's not entirely for their sake. ...I can't do this without them, Hilda." The words fall out in an exhausted heap, landing dully on her ears. He's not sure he's ever said such a thing to her, or to anyone this side of Fódlan's Throat for that matter. 'I can't' isn't generally in his vocabulary at all. But he just can't keep up his confidence anymore, not tonight; and he can't muster a facade, either. Not with her. Ever since they lost Byleth and the Church abandoned them, ever since Claude fled back to Derdriu only to find himself leading the Alliance mere months later with half the lords bending the knee to the Empire and the other half passive-aggressively second-guessing everything he's done, he's felt unmoored and listless. Like all his dreams are just that--wishes and dust.</p><p>It's improved a little since then, to be sure. The other lords quickly learned not to underestimate him, and he's had Judith and Holst in his corner from day one. Even those who capitulated to Edelgard's demands are at least staying in touch now, after the score of letters and messengers he sent them. He'd have liked to visit Count Gloucester in person, with Lorenz there to help smooth things over, but his advisors rightly warned that the Duke entering territory cooperating with the Empire would be a great way to get captured or killed. But even when he <em>can</em> get the Roundtable talking, it's nothing but bickering and arguments, and subtle insinuations that House Riegan still isn't pulling its weight, and he's just so tired.</p><p>"Don't say that. Don't you dare." Hilda hates seeing him like this, exhausted and resigned. She knows it's a sign of trust that he would willingly admit such a thing, but that he has such a thing to admit at all hurts her more than words can say. She shakes her head and clutches his shirt tighter, determined to assuage his worries as best she can.</p><p>"I know for a fact you can do this. You know how? Because you're already doing it. You've <em>been</em> doing it. That's kind of how this works." Another attempt at a smile. It's a shaky thing, uncertain at the edges, but she's trying. He always makes her want to try. "And you're not alone, either. I'm always with you. Right here." She untangles her hand from both of his and releases his shirt to poke him squarely in the chest. "And you have the rest of the Golden Deer behind you, too. And Holst, and Judith, and... You have so many people on your side. You're going to get through this, Claude. <em>We're</em> going to get through this." A firm nod, accompanied by her holding both sides of his face. Will any of this reach him? She doesn't really know. It's hard to preach positivity when she has her own fair share of doubts lingering in her mind. She meant what she said, though, back in that tower years ago. They can carry each other, sometimes. If it's her turn to do the carrying, so be it. </p><p>"Ha. I've been doing something, that's for sure. Treading water, mostly. If Teach were here, they'd take all my harebrained pipe dreams and turn them into something real. ...I miss them so much."</p><p>Claude hates talking like this, especially when she's trying so hard to cheer him up and all his instincts are pushing him to just smile and agree and move on. And she's right, of course--he's not alone, and he'll always be grateful for that. But she'll see through him anyway if he tries to just play it off. As she goes on, though, it gets harder and harder not to just give in, just tell her he'll be fine, like he always does. 'I'm always with you.' He sorely wishes that were literally the case...but the reminder does help, a little. That even if they're separated now--not just the two of them, but their entire Golden Deer family...and Teach, too--it's not forever, and they're still working together despite the distance between them.</p><p>"I know." She leans down to kiss the top of his head and stays there for a minute, pressing her forehead against his. Her voice is softer still when she repeats, "I know."</p><p>Hilda eases back into sitting upright and works on removing that ridiculous shoulder piece, next. She'd rather not have a pauldron digging into her side while they have an intimate discussion, thank you. If she can't lighten the metaphorical weight on Claude's shoulders, the least she can do is lessen the literal one. "You <em>are</em> making progress, though. I'm not just saying that to make you feel better, I swear. It's just... Slow. Because bureaucracy is slow, and terrible, and honestly it's a miracle anything ever gets done at all with how the Roundtable works. The other lords will come around eventually. You'll see. If anyone can convince them, it's you."</p><p>"...Hilda." It's half-word and half-sigh, as he turns slightly to put his arms around her waist and hold her close. "What would I do without you?" Something she's asked in jest many times, but the more time goes by, the more he finds himself asking it in earnest.</p><p>Using her own words against her, is he? All's fair in love and war, she supposes. It's a talent, really, their mutual ability to be teasing and sincere at the same time. She can't exactly return his embrace in this position, so she does the next best thing and holds his head against her. "I don't intend on going anywhere, so I guess you'll never get to find out. What a shame." One of her hands drifts to his back, and it stays idle there as she muses on the situation at hand.</p><p>"You're damn right you're not going anywhere." He hugs her even closer, now that the pauldron is out of the way and he can.</p><p>Hilda smiles, then turns quiet, contemplative. "... You can send me too, you know. As a scout. I can hold my own on a wyvern."</p><p>Claude hums, considering. "Of course you can. You were taught by the best. ;)" He smiles a little, too, remembering the lessons he gave her back at the academy...taking the excuse to hold her in his arms under the simple pretense of teaching her to handle the reins...in retrospect, neither of them was ever particularly subtle, were they? "But I figured your father would have plenty for you to do, between border skirmishes and keeping the peace at Fódlan's Locket." He'll never forget his first visit there as a Riegan, tasked with defending the fortress from an Almyran 'invasion' because Hilda's brother fell ill. It wasn't really an invasion, of course--just a silly raid, a show of force--but he got Teach to let him stick to the ballista so he wouldn't have to go up against any Almyran troops directly. He's been exchanging letters with Nader for the past year or so, and he's pretty sure his old instructor has managed to convince his father to quit hassling the Gonerils for now, but one never knows.</p><p>"Oh, does he <em>ever</em>. But I'm hardly the only Goneril. He should thank his lucky stars I've been willing to help at all." Hilda can still recall the look on her father's face when she agreed to help in any capacity. Something between shock and elation. She regretted the decision almost immediately. Years spent doing nothing like she always said she wanted, signed away in an instant. She blames Claude and Byleth and every person at Garreg Mach she came to care about for making her become...eugh...<em>diligent</em>. It's... Temporary. That's what she keeps telling herself. The war can't last forever. One day soon she'll be able to put her axe down and never pick it up again. Whatever it takes to help her sleep at night. "Besides, if I recall correctly, he's not the leader of the Alliance. <em>You</em> are." She manages a cheeky grin as he looks up at her. "I'll follow your orders over his any day."</p><p>"In that case, I hereby appoint you Queen of Finding Byleth. Go forth and work your magic, Lady Goneril!"</p><p>A shocked gasp. "Of course, Your Grace! At once, Your Grace. Anything for you, Your Grace." Complete with exaggerated noble accent and all. She'll take these little moments of levity where she can get them.</p><p>His chuckle is halfhearted, if genuine, and soon he sighs. "I know I'm making progress. But slow just isn't good enough. Not with the Empire right on our doorstep. You know I'm no stranger to the long game, but if we don't get our act together soon, we're going to find ourselves making a last stand here, unless we give in to Edelgard." <em>Edelgard...why is she doing this? She's always been ruthless, competitive, a bit arrogant, but...this crusade is something else entirely.</em> "And I keep thinking, there must be another way. There always is. But this time..." He sits up so he can look at her properly, releasing her from his grip only to take her hand in both of his.</p><p>Hilda is quick to slip back into a more serious demeanor. She's no master strategist, but she's here to provide support in whatever way she can. She can't wave a magic wand and fix all of his problems - of that, she is well aware. She is long past her fairy tale days. War will do that to a person. All she has to offer is her ear and her heart. She can only hope that's enough. "... You ever think all of this would be solved if we could somehow get everyone involved in one room and make them talk it out?" She meets his gaze and smiles ruefully, balling her free hand into a fist in her lap. "If only it was that simple."</p><p>"Heh...I wish. I can't even get five Alliance lords to talk things out half the time." He frowns. "Finding Teach wasn't the only reason I went to speak to Seteth. I tried to convince him to ally with us, to talk Rhea and Dimitri into it for us. Between the three of them, I thought he would be the most stable, but I didn't expect him to be so...broken. As it turns out, though, he's been trying to persuade them to reach out to me, and they're refusing for reasons he's not privy to. What is going <em>on</em> in Fhirdiad right now?"</p><p>Her expression grows troubled, thoughtful. "That's... bizarre. Would it be possible to... I don't know, send some kind of spy there? Get a sense of what's going on that way? If you haven't already, that is."</p><p>He nods. "We have a few scouts in Kingdom territory, but Fhirdiad is a pretty closed book, mostly due to the Knights of Seiros controlling all the roads. Aerial scouts would do well there in all the cloud cover, but wyverns are rare in Faerghus because they can't really handle the cold, so it's tough to find good places to stash them when they land. Which leaves--" He gestures to her with his free hand. "Espionage. And I have sent someone, but their first check-in hasn't arrived yet; and to be honest, with both Seteth and Shamir at the Church's disposal, I wouldn't be surprised if we never see our spy again. Judith's in much the same boat, despite her spy network having years of experience on mine." He leans his head back against the couch cushions. "I'd hire Shamir out from under Rhea if I knew where to find her or how to get in touch with her. But, well, Shamir."</p><p>"Shamir," Hilda agrees with a knowing nod as if the name alone evokes mutual understanding. Which...to be honest, it does. "Maybe send the next spy with instructions that say, 'If caught, promptly present offer of employment and a giant sack of gold to Shamir Nevrand, please and thank you.'"</p><p>He chuckles. "It would grab her attention, at least, I'm sure."</p><p>She threads their fingers together and falls silent for a minute, racking her brain for anything else to offer. For as much as she believes in Claude's capabilities and everything he stands for, there is no denying that they are slowly but surely running out of options. What she wouldn't give to be able to spark even the smallest bit of hope right now... She chews on her lip and looks down at their joined hands. "... Any chance Seteth might eventually come around? Any at all?"</p><p>Claude sighs, his gaze falling to their hands too. At least Hilda's here now. "I have a feeling the only way we'd pry Seteth away from whatever Rhea's planning is if Teach happened to show up alive and well on our doorstep."</p><p>"Well..." She slides over so she can nudge Claude's shoulder with her own. "If Byleth can survive being sucked into an actual, literal pit of nothingness... How bad can falling off a cliff really be, anyway?" She's... not sure what she believes, as far as her dear old professor is concerned. Common sense would indicate that they must be dead. How could they not be? </p><p>Then again... When have the Golden Deer ever been bound by a silly notion like that?</p><p>"We'll find them." Maybe she doesn't believe that one hundred percent. Not yet. Claude sure does, though - and as she just got done reminding herself, she <em>does</em> believe in him. That's basically the same thing, right? "You just got a new scout on the case, didn't you? I have it on good authority that she's pretty great."</p><p>Claude looks up to face her with a tired grin. "Is that so? I've heard she's <em>better</em> than great. So there's nothing to worry about." He brings up his free hand to cradle her cheek and leans in to kiss her gently. "Okay, that's enough about politics and plans and war. I'm taking off the duke mantle for the rest of the night. It's just Claude now."</p><p>Hilda practically melts into his touch. Not going to complain about this turn of events, not in the slightest. "Hello, Just Claude. I'm Just Hilda," she quips with a facetious grin. <em>C'mon, he was basically asking for it.</em> "Fancy meeting you here." She makes up for her indiscretion by pressing against him and languidly kissing at his jaw. "Can I interest you in trying for more than, oh... Four consecutive hours of sleep? I happen to know of a place with an excellent bed."</p><p>"Oh, do you? Well, Just Hilda, if you take me to this mythical place, I'll consider your offer. ;)" In truth, sleep sounds like the last thing he wants to do right now--there's so much to do, so much to prepare; and besides, the more he sleeps the less time he gets to spend conscious with Hilda--but he's not about to argue with her over it. He knows how that goes, having tried it plenty in the past.</p><p>She is rather reluctant to cut their time spent together short, herself. It is too rare, too precious a thing to be squandered these days. Hilda is neither blind nor ignorant of his ways of working himself to the bone, however. She can see it in his eyes, in the way he carries himself. Her conscience will not allow her to brush that aside. It is not an argument she's willing to entertain, Claude is right about that.</p><p>... That being said, she can be easily distracted. Under the right circumstances.</p><p>"One roundtrip to the master bedroom, coming right up." Hilda pulls the both of them to their feet via their linked hands and puts her free hand on his waist. "Would the staff talk too much if I carry you there, do you think?"</p><p>He lets her pull him to his feet, secretly glad for the leverage her hand affords; otherwise he'd be tempted to just sleep right here rather than put in the effort to stand back up. He stretches a bit, aching all over from so many hours in the saddle--not to mention the stress. "Heh, normally I wouldn't mind, but right now I think the fewer reasons I give everyone to add to the rumors about my being 'unfit to lead the Alliance,' the better." His tone is casual, even flippant, despite the words--and despite how he feels about them.</p><p>"Fair enough. Another time, then." She arches up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and leads him away to the bedroom as promised, letting him lean on her as much or as little as he pleases. He doesn't let go of her hand, but otherwise finds the energy to carry himself normally through the estate's tall hallways and up a sweeping staircase to the master bedroom, where he shuts the door behind them. It's unfortunate, Hilda thinks, that he still feels a sense of scrutiny in what should otherwise be a refuge. The mantle of nobility is not something Claude can shed by simply saying as much. Not when other people are around, anyway. As for behind closed doors...</p><p>Behind closed doors, there is a bed befitting a duke in every sense, save for it being absolutely covered in books. <em>Again</em>. </p><p>The grand four-poster bed is decked out in fancy Leicester gold, although most of the lovely embroidered gold bedspread is obscured by books and papers. The room is just as cluttered as ever with Claude's work and latest hobby supplies, though his hobbies nowadays are mostly just...more work. Still, a few side projects litter the place here and there. The desk is piled with complexly 'organized' stacks of books and correspondence and reports and scrolls, which he would swear up and down is perfectly navigable.</p><p>"... I really should stop being surprised by this."</p><p>"By how diligent and studious I am? It's true, you should. ;)"</p><p>"Claude..." She groans, exasperation creeping into her voice. "No wonder you never sleep. How do you live like this, honestly..." There is a method to his madness, of course. She knows this. That does not make her any less frustrated at the prospect of tackling... any of this before she claims that bed as her own. "If there is anything on the bed you are precious about, speak now or forever hold your peace. Everything else is being moved by force."</p><p>"So violent! Okay, okay, sheesh." He takes a few minutes to inspect what's on the bed, pulling out one or two important things that he doesn't want to end up in a heap on the floor and moving them to...a more controlled heap on the floor farther away. "Have at it."</p><p>Hand, meet forehead. Forehead, meet hand. They become well acquainted while Claude does...whatever it is he's doing. To her, organized chaos is still chaos. To him, organized chaos is still organized. It's not much of a distinction when you take Hilda's enthusiasm for chaos into account, especially Claude's brand of it, but. Moments like this remind her that there is, indeed, a difference.</p><p>"With pleasure." She mimes rolling up her sleeves and gets to work, unceremoniously shoving and sweeping anything she can get her hands on-- Well. Out of her hands and onto the floor, up until the bed looks less like a place for reading and more like a place for sleeping. She claps the non-existent dust off her hands once she's done and pats the newly cleared space next to her. "Okay, get up here. Watch your step, the floor's nearly as treacherous as your bed was now."</p><p>"Treacherous? I'll have you know I've only fallen off the bed twice. ...three times if you count the time I was awake." He does, however, step carefully around the new heap of stuff on the floor near the bed to kick off his boots and join her, flopping down on his back and stretching with a groan.</p><p>"You are not helping your case, here." Hilda huffs and leans over him to loosen and remove his cravat with deft fingers. "When was the last time you got a good night's sleep? Be honest."</p><p>He lies back and lets her work her magic. "Be honest? ...probably not since Garreg Mach."</p><p>"...okay." She purses her lips and sets about getting rid of both his sash and Leicester regalia until he's down to the basics. Much more manageable. "How about decent?"</p><p>Claude continues to let her do her thing, obliging her in shifting position whenever he needs to for her to get at a clasp or a buckle. "Last time you were here," he admits, somehow both complimentary and sheepish at the same time.</p><p>Hilda, meanwhile, is somehow both flattered and dismayed. What a pair they make. "I suspected as much." She sighs and settles against his side once she's done, draping an arm over his chest. "What am I going to do with you?"</p><p>He rests his cheek on top of her head and breathes in the scent of her hair with a slow inhalation. She's warm and soft and beautiful...all the things his day was not. "Whatever you damn well please, I imagine. ;)"</p><p>"Damn straight." She grins up at him from her perch, coquettish in nature and only slightly tempered by her concern for him. "What would please me is getting you to a state where you can get that decent night's sleep, so. Why don't you tell me what I need to do to make that happen, hm?"</p><p>"Hmm..." He feigns deep consideration, rubbing his chin with a hand. "Maybe something like...this?" He leans down to kiss her again, slower and deeper this time.</p><p>Hilda rises to meet him, curling her fingers in his jacket and losing herself in his kiss. She would reason that this is all for the greater good, you see, she's only doing her due diligence towards making sure the duke is well taken care of in every sense of the word— but reason evacuated the building the moment he put his mouth on hers. Claude lets himself relax into it too, feeling that so long as it’s just the two of them here, the world and its troubles are on hold, just for a little while. Hilda has a way of making him feel like anything could be possible, and maybe it’s something of an evolution of her ability to make people feel good about themselves so they’ll do things for her, but if so he doesn’t mind at all. If the thing she’s trying to get him to do for her is believe in himself...who is he to argue?</p><p>She pulls away first, only a little short of breath (amazing what a few years of experience will do), and drags her upper body fully on top of him. Her head is nestled in the crook of his neck, and she murmurs directly against his throat, lips brushing his skin. "Nice as that was... I believe I told you to <em>tell</em> me, not show me."</p><p>“So you did. In that case, I can think of all kinds of things that would do the trick. ;)” Her lips and breath against his throat are certainly helping add to that list. “For starters, you could finish helping me out of these clothes.”</p><p>"That is certainly a thing I could do, yes," she teases, trailing a hand down his jacket with a featherlight touch. Then, without warning, she switches gears and grabs him by both sides of his collar, yanking him upright along with her so she can sit in his lap.  She can't very well take his jacket off if she's on top of him, can she?</p><p>He takes in a breath that's not quite a gasp, sliding his arms around her waist as she--well, 'works' isn't really the word for what she's doing. "Mm, let's see. I think I remember how to do this..." Her fingers find their way to where the clasps securing his jacket begin. Where before she worked quickly and efficiently to shed his layers, she is now being deliberately, agonizingly slow. Every lingering touch is intentional, as is Hilda leaning her head on his shoulder and smiling at him ever so sweetly as she observes his reaction. No mischief here at all. Each time her fingers open a clasp and linger against the thin fabric of his undershirt, each time she shifts her weight just a little in his lap, the temperature in the room seems to inch higher, and he suppresses the urge to squirm a little.</p><p>"Aaalmost there..." Her voice is sugary-sweet, and it's a lie, besides--she's only about halfway there.</p><p>"I guess this is what I get for asking such a delicate flower to work so hard, huh."</p><p>"No, this is just what you get for not saying please." She hums and flicks open another clasp, her devilish— no, <em>angelic</em>, definitely angelic— grin widening. "I can work very, <em>very</em> hard." There goes another one. Considering how long his jacket is and where it falls, those lingering touches are starting to have more of an impact. "If I'm asked nicely enough." The farther down she works her fingers, the more his hands itch to simply finish the job for her, shrug off his jacket and pull off his undershirt and feel her hands and cool air on his bare skin. Instead, he forces himself to wait, digging his fingers a little into her back where his arms encircle her to keep his hands still.</p><p>"Ah...of course, my sincerest apologies." His voice is low and playful. "Please, Lady Goneril, I must beg your indulgence in kindly <em>undressing me faster</em>."</p><p>Hilda practically purrs her satisfaction, arching her back under his grip to encourage him. "Thaaat's more like it." With that, her fingers fly over the remaining clasps, and she tugs off his jacket and yanks his undershirt up and over his head in record time. No sooner has she done that then she's pushing him back down into the bed, her hands roaming his broad chest in approval. Hilda smirks down at him, dragging her teeth against her bottom lip and fixing him with a voracious look in her eye. "Fast enough for you?"</p><p>Now he’s just a little breathless when he replies, “Perfect. Truly, your gracious magnanimity knows no bounds.”</p><p>That look on her face, her hands moving over him, hitting the pillows under her firm insistence...gods, he’s missed her, and missed this. He might have been tired before, but his body is wide awake now. He runs his hands up her back and then down to rest on her hips, tugging to pull them closer to his own but only briefly, as though asking permission or inviting her to press closer. It isn’t as though he need be gentle with her - she’s far tougher than he is, after all - but it’s part of the game: here, she’s the lady of the chamber, regardless of whose family sigil is on the door.</p><p>Hilda is all too happy to indulge him in this and allows him to guide her, pressing down against him with a slight hitch in her breath. "Flattery will get you <em>everywhere</em>."</p><p>She sits up to address her own clothing situation and slowly rolls her hips against him as she does. A quiet moan escapes his lips as she sets his veins on fire with her slow movements atop him; it doesn't take long before he's beginning to stiffen beneath her. "I'll have to--mm. Remember to flatter you more often, then."</p><p>"I'd ask you to do this for me, but we'd be here all day," Hilda says slyly as she works on unfastening her collar and slipping the thin straps adorning her shoulders down her arms. "And besides..." Once that's no longer an issue, she pulls her dress up and over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her in nothing but her lacy black underwear. For as delicate of a flower as she claims to be, that's the only thing remotely delicate about her right now. "I've already got you right where I want you." Her arms are crossed behind her head as she leans back and knowingly puts herself on full display. "Like what you see?"</p><p>Claude's eyes and hands both come up to travel appreciatively over smooth skin covering powerfully defined muscles and the soft, firm curves of her breasts. "Trust me, I wouldn't dream of going <em>anywhere</em> right now. The view is to die for. ;)"</p><p>Hilda's hardly unaffected, herself. For as composed as she's attempting to appear, her body betrays her as she unwittingly leans into his touch. Her breathing grows labored, and she has to put in some amount of effort to suppress the noises trying to escape her throat. "See that you don't." It's as much an order as it is an idle comment as she moves her arms just enough to reach for and release the hairbands holding her hair at bay. With those out of the way, her hair falls into waves around her as she surges forward to plant one hand on either side of Claude's head, digging them into the mattress to hold herself aloft. Her impressive arms flex under the strain, almost assuredly on purpose.</p><p>"Well, since you're not going anywhere... How about you enlighten me about some of those things you thought of? You know, the ones you said would 'do the trick'?" She asks with a raised brow, feigning ignorance even as she maintains her teasing tone.</p><p>As her long, long hair comes down and that casual command falls from her lips, he wants to tell her how amazing she is, how beautiful, how vibrant and perfect...but he can tell her those things later, when she isn't pinning him to the bed with her teasing stare and those arms that could easily throw him across the room. <em>Gods, that's hot.</em></p><p>He does squirm a bit now, moving his hips up against her to keep the friction going as he brings his hands up to curl around her forearms, as though to anchor himself there. "Lady Goneril," he murmurs, fixing his gaze on her eyes--bright, alluring things they are, and hungry, like she plans to claim all of him for her own. He'd let her, too. "I'd like nothing more than to drown in your kiss while you have your way with me." He grins, both wicked and playful, as he adds-- "<em>Please.</em>"</p><p>She doesn't bother stifling her low moan when she bears down on him again per the insistence of his hips, though whether it's intentional on her part to rile him up or a slip in the facade as she momentarily loses herself in the pleasure of it is up for debate. She'd like to claim it's the former, but when he looks up at her like that, like he's ready and willing to fall apart underneath her-– Maybe she can admit it's a little of both. Maybe. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Another solid roll of her hips as she literally bites back her indecent expression to indicate that, yes, she does in fact acknowledge the double entendre at play with her word choice, thank you. She lowers her arms so she can lie on top of him fully and tangle one of those hands by his head into his thick hair, tug with enough force to be just shy of painful. She lavishes his exposed neck with attention while her other hand travels south, making good use of her lips and her tongue and <em>especially</em> her teeth.</p><p>"The thing is..." Her wandering hand comes to rest at the waistband of his pants. "There are so very many different ways I could do exactly that." She toys with the fabric there, experimentally hooks a finger or two underneath it. "You'll have to be a little more...specific."</p><p>Claude's starting to lose the thread of the game a little as she turns up the heat. Between her moving atop him, her hand in his hair, the absolutely <em>sinful</em> things she’s doing with her mouth, and those fingers teasing below...gods, woman, how is he even supposed to form words at a time like this? She’s in complete control, and she can definitively feel just how much he’s enjoying that. “Hilda—nnnn. You never did finish...undressing me...”</p><p>"So I didn't." She traces the edge of his waistband until she reaches the center of it, reluctantly makes some space between their hips so she can lay her hand down flat there as if to follow through on his request. "I'll consider finishing if you tell me what I want to hear." Then she grinds down with her palm against him instead, smirking against the hollow of his throat.</p><p>A sound escapes him that’s part moan and part wry laugh. “And I thought <em>I</em> was the relentless tease around here...”</p><p>In spite of her teasing, Hilda does follow that up with a bit of relief. It takes some doing, working with only one hand such as she is (she's not in any hurry to let go of his hair), but she fumbles with the front of his pants until she gets them open. True to her word, though, she does not actually remove them. Not yet. What she does do is bring that hand back up to cradle his jaw, lift her head from where she's been marking him so she can make eye contact. "I need you to be explicit, babe. I don't want to go too hard on you after the day you've had. Not unless you want me to."</p><p>He gasps faintly, and at her words he smiles gratefully at how much she cares for him, that she would say such a thing. He has to resist the urge to kiss her right then, what with the hand pinning his head by the hair - not that he’s complaining. “I want you to. I—“</p><p>She interrupts him, turning his head just so for the sake of following that moment of tenderness up with whispering into his ear, "And I do mean <em>explicit</em>."</p><p>His whole body tenses pleasantly; that whisper makes him shiver. “...as you wish, Lady Goneril,” he replies, voice thick now with anticipation. “I want you to hold me captive in your kiss until I can’t breathe and fuck me until I can’t remember my own name. After the day I’ve had, all I want is <em>you</em>.”</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> It shouldn't be possible to make her feel so incredibly turned on and yet so deeply touched with only a few sentences, but here she is, veins thrumming and heart pumping like he cast a magic spell on her. Her grip in his hair tightens in response, a satisfied sound making its way past her lips. "Mmmm, love it when you talk like that. Almost makes me <em>not</em> want to kiss you so you'll keep going," she muses as she brings her face closer to his, stopping an inch or so away while she pretends to take this under serious consideration. "...you're lucky you're so good with your mouth." She closes the distance to trap him in a searing kiss, moving both of her hands to finally take down the remaining barriers between them, his and hers alike, no teasing this time. This time, Hilda takes everything she wants, and gives back in equal measure.</p>
<hr/><p>Hilda rolls over with an exaggerated yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. And sweaty. I need a bath. Like, five baths." She grouses as she stares up at the ceiling and contemplates the pros and cons of getting out of bed while her breathing slowly returns to normal. "... in the morning. First thing in the morning." Her eyes flicker toward Claude and she smiles a bit, tired and glowing and faintly apologetic as she reaches over to ruffle his hair. "Hope you weren't planning on giving any big speeches tomorrow or anything."</p><p>"Mm," is the only response Claude can muster for a moment, rolling onto his side to pillow his head on her chest and snuggle close. "Right now I'm not planning to do anything tomorrow except lie here."</p><p>"Is that so? Guess I should get comfortable." She leans her cheek on the top of his head and legitimately considers how to best maximize her comfort level without moving a muscle. <em>Let's see...there's that one throw blanket at the bottom of the bed?</em> She straightens a leg, wiggles her foot around...nope, not even close. Too short. She resigns herself to settling for grabbing at the edge of the blanket they're already on top of that's hanging off the side of the bed and folding it over the both of them. Better than nothing.</p><p>"Love you," Hilda mutters while she lays her arm atop his and tugs it a little closer.</p><p>He chuckles at her failed attempt to retrieve the faraway blanket. "Love you...so much, Hilda." He squeezes her briefly and closes his eyes. "Wake me up when the war is over, okay?"</p><p>No line of sight is required to tell that she's smiling. It can be felt in the way her cheek twitches from where it's pressed against him, heard through the sappy lilt in her voice that comes through even as it's thick with sleep and scratchy from overuse. "You got it." Her eyes flutter closed, and before slumber claims her she manages to mumble a soft, "Goodnight... deer..." Aaand then she's out like a light.</p>
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